Neal recovered himself and held out his hand to Finlay.
There was another knock at the door of the house. Finlay started violently and ran to the window.
“It’s all right,” he said, “it’s only a lad I keep employed. I sent him out an hour ago to find out what was going on in the streets and to bring me word.”
He returned to Hope with a smile on his face, but he had grown very white, and his hands were trembling slightly. A boy burst into the room, followed by the woman who had opened the door for Hope and Neal.
“Master,” he cried, “they’ve brought out Kelso into the High Street. The soldiers are dragging him along. They are going to flog him.”
The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement. Having delivered his message, he turned and fled. A flogging was too great a treat for Finlay’s boy to miss. The woman, without staying to don hat or shawl, went after him. Finlay called to her to stay. She shouted her answer from the threshold.
“Do you think I’m daft to be sitting my lone in your kitchen and them flogging a clever young man in the next street?”
Then the hall-door slammed. Finlay turned to Hope. He was whiter than ever, and his whole body shook as if with an ague.
“Kelso will tell,” he said. “Kelso knows, and they’ll flog the secret out of him. He’ll tell, I know he will. He must tell; no man could help it.”
If Finlay was pretending to be terrified he acted marvellously well. It seemed to Neal that he really was afraid of something, perhaps of some sudden betrayal of his treachery, of vengeance taken speedily by Hope.